


damned by the light

by TechnoSkittles



Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: Angst, F/F, Grief/Mourning, angst for daaaaaaaaaaays, or more my particular interpretation of an alternate timeline of post s5, post s5-ish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-15
Updated: 2020-04-15
Packaged: 2021-02-23 01:55:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23670523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TechnoSkittles/pseuds/TechnoSkittles
Summary: "It is the stars, The stars above us, govern our conditions." - William Shakespeare
Relationships: Adora/Catra (She-Ra)
Comments: 23
Kudos: 150





	damned by the light

**Author's Note:**

> Hey if you really want this to hurt the way it should, listen to [Let Me Sign by Robert Pattinson](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cdIcP12Kd5k)
> 
> Fun fact: This is the SECOND fic I've written to this song. Someone stop me from listening to it already.

It's all wrong.

The air in the war room - the "meeting" room, as Bow is trying to call it now even though it's failing tremendously to catch on (there will be more wars, more bloodshed, more lives lost and needlessly sacrificed) - is somber. A month has passed since the final battle, since their victory over Horde Prime, since the end of the war, since _everything_. Not too much has happened in that span of time, but so much has happened as well.

Rehabilitation efforts started just two weeks ago. Cities and towns that had been ravaged, ones that _she_ had a part in conquering and destroying are being rebuilt. Civilians are being relocated from one place to the next, harbored in shoddy, built-in-a-day shelters to provide some semblance of housing while they wait for their homes to be rebuilt. There's unrest, quelled only by the wash of relief that comes with the halted reign of an alien dictator. Things are safe. Things are good (or, at least better than they were, realistically speaking. What does "good" even mean anymore in this current climate?).

Some of the princesses on the council - which is a name that has stuck, for some reason, replacing the almost trivial and childish sounding "Princess Alliance" (or at least, those are the words that Glimmer used to explain it, but Catra has other suspicions) - are busy with their own kingdoms that were lost to Hordak's armies. Mermista is possibly the busiest of all, rebuilding and refortifying Salineas which was one of the harshest blows in the recent processions of the war. Her determination is something that Catra can admire, steady and resilient, but there's the off-time when she's sulking in her seat at the table, complaining about a gate that may never be the same.

(Entrapta always insists otherwise, but with a sharp look from Mermista and the averted gazes of the rest of the council, goes uncharacteristically quiet.)

Besides Mermista, Scorpia is probably the other busiest of the members. Partially due to the fact that she's a new instatement, after having reestablished her connection to the Black Garnet. Something all of the other princesses and Glimmer have congratulated her on on numerous occasions. (And Catra tries to be supportive too, to mend what has been bent and to undo all the cruelty she has doled out in her time of wandering and insanity, to reestablish a friendship lost to the tests of a stressful war and Catra's own insecurities and abandonment issues. But Scorpia is still grasping at her loose grip on her powers and with every crackle of red lightning her chest seizes and she vanishes, lost to an onslaught of memories of her worthlessness, her insubordination, and the punishments that always followed close to her tail. She can't breathe around Scorpia anymore, can't still her trembles, can't board up the trails of tears that crust on her cheeks as she hears the echoes of Shadow Weaver's voice with each red flash, each phantom pain of burning and agony, can't, can't, _can't_.)

But Scorpia has so much on her plate already with taking back the Fright Zone and the land it inhabits that belonged to her people that she doesn't even have much time to coddle Catra's fantasies of them fixing their friendship anyway. She might even be hesitant to the idea, which Catra decidedly can't blame her for. She deserves to be on the back burner, after all the bad blood between them that's poisoned her taste buds and drips from her lips as she lays awake at night, the moon too bright and the air too quiet.

There's also the matter of building up revamped and more unified defense systems. All the Princesses and Glimmer are drafting up plans on how to better improve their militaries, not only to prevent (or delay) any uprisings on Etheria, but to better protect themselves from external threats now that they've rejoined the rest of the universe.

Entrapta has been having a field day gathering data and research from Prime's ships, information abound from worlds far beyond theirs that they have all decidedly agreed to not trust until they know more. Most of the planets that Prime had conquered and left standing are in the process of liberating themselves, and Entrapta has set up some sort of communication link to them to share tactics and build alliances to further unify their small planet's defenses. Queen Glimmer is at the head of all these interplanetary diplomatic conferences, being silently appointed by general consensus that she should be the head speaker for all of Etheria. Catra thinks that may cause some upset by the nations and factions that they haven't necessarily convened with, but ultimately no one is in any condition after everything that's transpired to object to it.

Bow has suggested on rectifying that at a later point, to better include the needs and wants from everyone on Etheria, and Glimmer has agreed to it. But Catra wonders if she'll feel the same later, after the self-importance and power has seeped into and stained her ego.

Which isn't even necessarily a jab at Glimmer. On Horde Prime's ship, which served as their prison for the better part of a month (she assumes. Keeping track of time on an alien dicatator's ship in space was pretty much impossible.), her and Glimmer had actually put aside most of their differences. Most of it was for the sake of survival, but after a healthy amount of begrudging and reluctance, they began to find the similarities that binded them together, which has now put them in an odd spot of friendship.

Catra's positive it's the only reason she's allowed to stay in Bright Moon.

Well, that and she knows that Glimmer's still waiting for her to change her mind.

" _I want you to be my Head Military Strategist."_

_Catra looked up at her, eyes heavy with tears shed hours prior and lacking a particular shine. She licks her lips so they don't split open when she forces a smirk. "Is that even a real position?"_

_Caught, Glimmer nervously shifts from across her. A few months a queen and it still shows. "Not in the past. But I feel like it's about time we get one." When Catra doesn't reply she tries to offer a disarming smile. "We can adjust the title so it sounds smoother. I can even leave that up to you-"_

" _I'll pass."_

That conversation divulged into a reopening of freshly-peeled wounds and more tears, but Glimmer left promising the position to her if she would just think about it.

" _You're the best person I can think of for the job, Catra."_

What a place this world has become.

But of course, the subject of this meeting is something else entirely. No discussion of rebuilding or diplomacy, improving their defenses or advancing their weaponry, of celebrations of their victory or bestowing made-up titles on undeserving people.

No.

They're planning a memorial service.

"We can't keep putting it off," Glimmer had announced to a silent room, weighed with melancholy, regrets, and defeat.

"Glimmer's right," chimes in Bow, standing because everyone's noticed the slight tremors in Glimmer's arms as she holds herself up on the table. "Something needs to be done, even if it's something small." He looks out to everyone, lingering on each sunken face, and halting on the only one to make eye contact with him. "Though, I think we can all agree that she deserves more than that."

Catra narrows her eyes and clenches her fists. What would _they_ know about what she deserved?

"So," Bow says, addressing the rest of the table again. "If anyone has any suggestions, the floor is open."

It's silent at first. Everyone lost in their own thoughts trying to come up with an appropriate course of action, or maybe just too reserved to voice their thoughts aloud out of fear of disrespecting a ghost's memory.

Scorpia, surprisingly, speaks up first. "What if we did a candle sigil, or something like that? You know, a bunch of people lighting candles and gathering together. We could have someone give a speech!"

Perfuma, seated next to Scorpia with a minimal amount of distance between them, smiles and claps her hands together. "What a wonderful idea, Scorpia! I could do the flower arrangements and make a beautiful altar!" she adds on, giving a somewhat pointed look at Mermista.

Mermista rolls her eyes in kind and leans her cheek against her propped up fist. "I dunno. Doesn't that sound too...quiet? I think we should have a party or some kind of celebration. I'm sure she would've preferred that over something so...depressing."

Perfuma opens her mouth to Scorpia's defense, but Frosta beats her to the punch. "Wouldn't that be disrespectful, though? I mean, she's…" Everyone around the table flinches. "I just don't know if a party is the right choice."

Mermista waves her hand flippantly. "We'd be honoring her, or whatever. It's not disrespectful."

Ever the meditator, Bow steps in at this point. "Maybe we could take ideas from both suggestions? We could have a candle sigil, but maybe make it a bit more lively. So, not a party or celebration per se, but something to make it a happier event."

 _Happier event?_ Catra clenches her fists tighter, feeling her claws bite into the yielding flesh of her palm. What about any of this warranted _happiness_?

However, her unspoken grievances go ignored as the rest of the room seems to jump onto that idea. Perfuma's talking about flower arrangements again ("Does anyone know what her favorite flowers were?"), Sea Hawk and Swift Wind are talking about a song of commemoration ("As her trusted steed, I feel as though _I_ should be the one to sing it!"), Scorpia is going on about decorations while Mermista is talking about the kind of food they'll be serving ("But _nothing_ with fish in it!" "Oh! What about tiny cupcakes?"), and Frosta is nearly bouncing out of her seat about building some kind of ice sculpture.

"I can make one like I did for your coronation, Glimmer! But _bigger_ and _better_!"

Glimmer chews on that for a minute, nodding along as Frosta rambles on and on about the amazing sculpture capabilities she possesses. "Actually, I really like that idea. But what if we did something more permanent? Ice will eventually melt, so what if we had a stone statue made? We could have it for the memorial service, but maybe give it a more permanent home afterwards. That way anyone can visit it."

There's a murmur of agreement around the table, skipping over the place where Catra is sitting.

"Where would we put it?" asks Bow.

Glimmer stumbles on that question, obviously not having thought that far. "Well...somewhere that was important to her, I guess. Bright Moon?"

"Or maybe where she found the sword?"

Tapping her claws together, Scorpia speaks up next. "Well, she grew up and spent most of her life in the Fright Zone. Maybe once I'm finished rebuilding it, we could put it there? I'm sure I could make a special garden or park to host it."

Glimmer smiles, one of genuine warmth and gratitude that was tainted with a faint hint of sadness. "That sounds perfect, Scorpia. Any objections to putting the statue in the Fright Zone?"

 _Several_. Catra bites her tongue.

No one else speaks up either. "Okay. I'm sure I can commission one of Bright Moon's royal artisans to make the piece. How do we want it to look?"

Why does it matter what _you_ want?

"Something heroic! She saved Etheria, after all," Frosta pipes up.

"Maybe she could be stepping on Horde Prime? I mean, she _is_ the one who defeated him," Mermista adds.

That's not what happened though. That's not how it happened at all.

Bow looks a little uneasy at the suggestion too, but seemingly for different reasons. "I don't think we could be including Horde Prime in the statue. She did more than just defeat him, plus I don't know if it'd be a good look to have him in it. We want to commemorate her and her alone, right?"

Say it. Say her _name_ , you cowards!

"Bow's right," Glimmer says. "If we're going to commemorate her properly, we should just focus on her. But the sword should definitely be in there."

The sword is _broken_.

"Then she should definitely be in her She-Ra form, right? Not only to remember her, but to add her legacy to the long line of She-Ras in the past. That way, centuries from now, people can also remember all the great things this She-Ra did," Perfuma explains to a sea of nodding, brain-dead princesses and company.

This is wrong.

"Yeah! And her hair and cape could be flowing in the wind! I mean, not really but make it look like it is."

This is all _wrong_.

"Maybe we could even etch out a plaque, detailing her greatest adventures and victories!" Sea Hawk shouts, jumping up from his chair with a gleam in his eye. "I would be more than happy to be the one to write it with my expertise in telling fantastic stories of my own and-"

" _Enough!_ "

The room is washed over with silence and all eyes turn to her. Catra can feel the sting of the pinpricks in her hand, can feel the droplets of blood pooling from the restraint of listening to these idiots ramble on and on about themselves, thinking of what will make _them_ feel better and never, not _once_ , thinking about what's in _her_ best interest.

Everyone is mostly stunned at her outburst, but Glimmer is the only one whose brows are furrowed in concern. It makes her see a deeper and darker red as she seethes, fire licking her fangs as she glares at all of them.

"All of you are such _selfish_ idiots!"

She waits for a rebuttal of some sort, some shouted defense or objection to her claim to add fuel to her fire, but everyone only watches her, too locked in their own shock or empty-headed to even conjure something to fire back.

"You all are going on about...about _parties_ and _songs_ and _decorations_ like she never even _mattered_!" A few of them shrink back in obvious guilt, but she doesn't let up. "You want to boast about adventures and victories like she didn't suffer, like she...she never felt pain or loss! She fought for all of you, for all of _Etheria_ even though no one ever asked if she even wanted to!"

Because no one had wanted this. Least of all her.

After all, what self-respecting person would willingly jump into a line of fire that only ever demanded more and more and never promised anything in return? What sane person would ever turn their back on their best friend just for them to stab them in it over and over and _over again_?

Who in the far reaches of hell and back would _ever_ ask for a fate like that?

"And then," she chuckles darkly, shaking her head as she struggles not to break down then and there, to release the pent up sorrow that's been festering inside her heart, cracked and splintered to such a disastrous state that every bit of hurt and grief oozes out like a poison meant to drive her insane. "And then you say you want to commemorate her, her memory and...you decide _She-Ra_ is the best way to do that? You want to build another tried and tired statue of some mythical lady that's lived and died for thousands of years?" She slams her fists on the table, causing everyone to jump. "There's already hundreds of thousands of statues, paintings, stories talking about her! _She-Ra_ this and _She-Ra_ that. She's everywhere! Everyone already knows everything there is to know about She-Ra!

"But what about all those women, the ones _behind_ She-Ra? Can you list _any_ of their names besides the last two?" No one speaks up. "That's what I thought. Everyone always remembers the legend and legacy of all the She-Ras, but never the girls who inherited the stupid title. None of the girls who were _trapped_ in that stupid prison of a façade with no other choice but to bear it with a grin. It all gets blurred and smudged under the damn _annoying_ title of fucking _She-Ra_!"

She's breathing heavily now. Can feel the prickle of tears at the back of her eyes, pins and needles prodding and stabbing as her lungs tremble with the struggle to stay angry and resentful of a universe that finally shows itself only to take away the only sliver of happiness that Catra ever had.

"And now you want to build a statue to this stupid, _pathetic_ idea of some undying warrior? As if you were the first brain-dead morons to think of it?" Catra stands from her seat on shaking legs, struggling under the weight of emotions and guilt that rests on her shoulders.

"There's a long-ass line of She-Ras for all of you to drool over and remember. But in case all of you forgot, _She-Ra_ disappeared before any of the fighting had even started. _She-Ra_ didn't save Etheria." She looks out to all of their faces which are starting to blur in a mesh of watercolors and heaves one last shaky breath before the anger begins to leave her, leaking out like water out of a broken dam or air from a quickly deflating balloon.

" _She-Ra_ didn't die saving us. _Adora_ _did_."

Without hearing anything they might have to say, Catra turns on her heel, using the last dregs of her anger out by knocking over her seat with a scream, before storming out of the war room.

* * *

Chaos.

All around them is chaos.

And the events that had led up to this point had been even more so.

No one could explain why Horde Prime made the decision to release Catra and Glimmer back to Etheria, least of all Catra and Glimmer. They'd been dropped off by one of Prime's smaller ships, accompanied by a slew of his soldiers on Bright Moon's doorstep, where they had stumbled into the middle of a strategy meeting of all the princesses and company, headed by Adora herself. The second they had made an entrance, everyone had dropped what they were doing, staring with their jaws on the floor before flinging themselves into action to wrap Glimmer up in a barrage of hugs and tearful exclamations. Catra had watched from off to the side, trying not to let it get to her head. They had more important matters to worry about anyway than her stinging wounds.

Once the heartfelt reunions were out of the way - with only a million tear-filled apologies exchanged between Glimmer and her dork entourage - Glimmer and Catra divulged the little intelect they'd been able to gather as prisoners on Horde Prime's ship. As the only ones to actually see him so up close and personal, their information was held above all else.

It's the only reason Catra could think of as to why no one had been glaring at her anytime she talked (though she was not impervious to the chill in the room as everyone listened).

And when Glimmer appointed Catra as the main strategist to devise a plan of attack, Adora didn't even bat an eye when she stepped down to make room for her. Catra sort of wished she had.

So begun the endless barrage of late-nights of planning and debate, gathering all the information they had (which, honestly, wasn't even enough to nick a dent in Horde Prime's impenetrable armor) to put forth plans on how to overthrow him. To be fair, most of the discussion had been between Glimmer and Catra, but the other princesses were able to chime in every once and again with intel from Etheria that they'd missed out on from their time away. Still, it wasn't virtually enough to build up an actual coherent and foolproof plan of attack, but they didn't have the luxury of time to perfect the finer details, so most of it was left up to improversation.

That, of course, had been their first mistake.

They hadn't even made it halfway through the battle that things had started going terribly wrong. Not that Catra really expected otherwise, but it's only in the midst of a mistake that you've realize how monumental it is, and for the first time since everything, Catra had really come face-to-face with the fact that this was probably the end.

She had felt a hand grip her arm, pulling her from the fight and swiveled to stare directly into blue eyes.

"I have an idea."

Catra grit her teeth, ducking her head down at the side of a nearby explosion. "And you waited until now?"

Adora's teeth had dug into her lip, pressing so deep that it widened the cut there. Catra imagined that it must've hurt tremendously, but with everything else going on, Adora probably hadn't even noticed. "I didn't want to bring it up unless I needed to. I'm not sure if it'll work."

There was something...off about the way she was acting. After years of growing up with her and a couple more fighting her on the opposite side, Catra knew when Adora wasn't herself, when she was too hesitant and unsure of herself. This was certainly one of those times.

But the desperation was new.

"You're about to do something stupid, aren't you?"

And then Adora grins that stupid grin which is answer enough. "We both know this isn't working." _And we both knew it never would_ , she doesn't say, but Catra hears it all the same.

"How long have you been sitting on this plan of yours?"

Teeth dig in deeper and fresh blood wells up in the cut. "Awhile."

Catra had only sighed, rolling her eyes to the high heavens and stars above, before fixing her determined gaze back on Adora. "Alright. What are we doing then?"

" _You_ stay here and keep fighting with the others. I'm…" She trailed off and drops her gaze, grip on Catra's arm loosening and Catra got the distinct feeling that something bigger than them, bigger than Prime, akin to the size of the universe was wedging between them. "I'm going to try and stop this."

A flare of anger flared up within Catra and she stepped back into Adora's space, fighting against the force driving them apart, eyes fire and brimstone. "No. No, you are _not_ about to run off and play hero again, Adora! Who the _hell_ do you think you are?"

Adora pulled away again and the wall was dropping between them, she could see it in Adora's eyes. "Just... _trust_ me, okay? I think I can fix this." Before Catra could argue anymore or pry Adora's plan out of her with bloodied knuckles and clenched teeth, Adora had run off, away from the fight, away from _her_.

She had half the mind to chase after her, to force it out of her or at least accompany her on whatever hair-brained mission she'd set for herself, but somewhere behind her she could hear Bow calling out for Glimmer and knew that it would all be pointless anyway.

She should have followed her.

The battle afterwards had been tough and grueling. No amount of Horde training or in-battle experience could have ever prepared Catra for the fight she had to put up just to stay _alive_. She had no idea how the other princesses were able to fare, considering their much more pampered upbringings and ignorance to the realities of war. Nonetheless, they were able to hold their ground, taking out a fair amount of Prime's soldiers.

But they certainly wouldn't have been able to fight them all off. That much had become apparent too soon, and for the most part, it seemed they were all resigned to their fate, promising themselves and each other to take out whoever they could until they couldn't anymore.

It was a shocking relief when a brilliant, glowing flash of white erupted from the ground beneath them, eviscerating the rest of their enemies on the spot. The battlefield, which had been roaring with battle cries and the sounds of glittering magic and advanced weaponry, went still and quiet in the breadth of a second. The princesses and other fighters on their side had stood stupidly, confused as the what miracle had granted them such a swift and merciless victory in the matter of a single second.

Catra had been the first to recover from her stupified state, realizing exactly what had happened with a sinking feeling in her gut.

So now here she is, after racing through the woods in a blind panic, praying to the stars above and anyone else who's listening to please, _please_ don't take anything else away from her. Not when she's lost so much. Not when she's just finally getting it all back.

Her prayers fall on deaf ears and she finds Adora's still body at the entrance to the Crystal Castle. Her screams grate against her raw throat as she sprints faster, nearly skidding to a stop to kneel beside Adora, her complexion paling, eyes closed, and lips parted.

It's only when she shouts Adora's name for the tenth time that those eyes crack open, revealing blue pools dulling to gray.

"Hey, Catra."

Her voice is weak, raspy and barely more than a whisper, but it's _something_ and Catra snatches it up, holding onto it with a vice grip as she gathers Adora's body into her lap, cradling her head with the gentleness of a mother cradling a newborn. "Don't 'Hey, Catra' me! I _told_ you not to run off and do something stupid."

Adora hums. "'S only stupid if it didn't work." She frowns and squints up at Catra. "It did work, right?"

"That's not the point!"

She chuckles before wincing, pressing her lips into a fine line and ending it with a groan. "Takin' that as a 'yes'."

Catra shakes her head before moving to gather up Adora's legs so she could carry her. "Come on. We need to get you some help."

But Adora shakes her head and lets out a ragged breath. "I'm not…"

The sinking feeling returns and Catra grips her tighter, bending her body over Adora's as if she can just shield her from what they both feel is coming. "You are!"

And Adora smiles at her, so gently, like a mother trying to console a naive child, or a wise sage trying to explain something glaringly obvious to a novice. "I'm sorry, Catra."

"No you're not!" Catra's shaking now, nails digging into Adora's arms and she can't even worry about how it might hurt because everything is falling apart around her and the world is too silent and growing quieter. "If you were sorry you wouldn't have gone off to do something so stupid!"

Adora shakes her head. "No, I," she inhales, shuddering and wincing in pain. "I'm sorry. For leaving you. For everything that happened after that. I...never wanted any of it to happen."

"Save it." Catra gnaws on her bottom lip and lets go of Adora's arms, looking off into the distance, looking for someone, _anyone_. "I'm going to go get some help and you can do all these apology crap when you get better, got it?" Adora doesn't say anything, just keeps smiling and Catra loses it, the final thread snapping and the tears finally spill over. " _Got it?_ "

When Adora fails to answer again, desperation takes over and she gets ready to push Adora off her lap so she can run off to find help. She'll be faster on her own. She can bring someone back sooner and risk not wasting any time…

A hand stops her. She looks down to see that the smile is gone, replaced by a wobbling lip and tears filling with tears, drowning in sorrow and fear.

"No...please stay. Stay with me." Her breath hitches and Catra lets out a sob of her own. "I...I don't want to be alone."

Catra grinds her teeth but settles back down, pulling Adora closer, holding her tighter. "Why did you run off on your own then?"

Instead of answering her question, Adora begins to shake and reaches for her hand. Catra gives it to her, sobbing again at the light touch, fading ever faster.

"Catra?"

She hums, tears coming faster than she can blink them away.

"I'm...scared."

Catra bites her tongue, hard, trying not to let anymore sobs escape. She can feel her energy being sapped away just as quickly as Adora's life, but she has to hold on, just a little bit longer. For Adora's sake, if anything.

"Well...don't be. I'm right here, okay? Okay? And...and I'm not going anywhere."

Adora sniffles and her thumb lightly brushes against Catra's and she panics at feeling how faint the touch is. There's something real, _permanent_ about this moment, and it terrifies her. She tries to think of how to stop it, how to stop all of time to delay what's happening, prays and pleads and hopes for a better outcome. But it's wasted energy, wasted breath and she feels utterly powerless, more than she ever has.

"You...you promise?"

Catra closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, before opening them again to look into Adora's, noticing the light has already mostly faded away.

"I promise."

A minute goes by. A minute of her holding Adora and holding back her tears, to try and remain strong for her. A minute of counting Adora's last breaths, struggling and weak and so faint but too loud in the face of the inevitable. A minute of wishing for more. More minutes, more time, more everything.

It lasts an eternity.

And when Adora goes still, when Catra's counted her last breath as Adora sags lifelessly against her, she faces the heavens, squinting and cursing through tears at the universe, at the past, present, and future. She spits in the face of it all, shouting and yelling until her throat is oozing blood and her lungs are shriveled at the unfairness of it all, at the cruel, sick and twisted irony of everything. With every ounce of her being and every shred of her remaining husk, she screams for better, for sympathy, for _mercy_.

The stars stare back at her, quiet, blinking mercilessly.

* * *

There isn't a knock at the door, because of course there isn't.

The only signal that someone is about to enter is their light footsteps outside on the carpeted floor. Catra's ears perk up at the sound, but she doesn't bother turning to face whoever steps in, keeping her gaze to the Whispering Woods that surrounds them and the steep drop from the balcony of her room.

"Hey, Kitten."

Because of _course_ it's them.

"I'm not even remotely in the mood, Double Trouble."

Double Trouble sighs, ending it with a few light-hearted tsks. "Yes, Glimmer did tell me about your little outburst in the war room earlier. You always do have a flair for the dramatics, don't you?"

She can't help it. "Like _you're_ one to talk."

Double Trouble hums and approaches her, stopping right next to her and leaning their elbows on the balcony railing that Catra's sitting on, clearly ignorant or uncaring to the idea of personal space. It's not surprising, but it is annoying, especially when she's already in such a sour mood. "True. You've got me there, darling. But my dramatics are a _performance_ ," they circle their wrist in a flamboyant fashion before tucking their fingers under their chin, grinning at her. "While yours tend to be more on the tantrum end of the spectrum."

Catra grits her teeth and lashes her tail behind her. Oh she's _really_ not in the mood for this. "Go away, Double Trouble. I already told you I'm not in the mood."

"Are you ever?" It's asked innocently enough, but Catra knows it's really a jab at her and she whips around to glare at Double Trouble.

"What? Do they expect me to _apologize_ for telling them all the truth?" Double Trouble says nothing and she turns away with a scoff. "They all want to sit there and act like nothing's wrong, like this is just some other frivolous event to plan and wet their pants over. _None_ of them want to face the fact that Adora sacrificed herself needlessly because we were all too weak to fight a battle we never had a chance at winning." The tears are making a comeback, but if there's anyone she refuses to cry in front of, Double Trouble is at the top of that list. "She died and no amount of celebration or flowers is ever going to change what happened."

Double Trouble hums, mulling over her words. Catra wants to shout at them to leave again, but they cut her off. "Have you ever thought about the fact that maybe they're not the ones in denial?"

Catra blinks and goes stiff. She turns to face them, slowly, murder in her eyes and fangs glinting in the light of the setting sun. Her narrowed eyes are a challenge, her venomous words a dare. "What did you say?"

Double Trouble shrugs and turns around to lean their back against the railing. "Well, from where I'm standing, they all seem ready to move on from it all. They're planning the memorial service, figuring out how to honor Adora's memory, and you're the one sulking in your room about how unfair it all is and how they're being idiots." They tilt their head, looking Catra up and down in an almost bored fashion. "If there's anyone who's not facing the reality of the situation, I'd say it's you, Kitten."

Catra is fuming. Her anger, which had dissipated before she had shut the doors to the war room, wet and useless, flares up again, simmering and steaming and she _growls_. "You don't know _anything_!"

"Maybe I don't." They're still acting pretty flippant, and every second they're still standing there is another second for Catra to get even more pissed off. "But if that's not the truth, then what is?" They look at her, an odd look of seriousness on their normally casual expression. "Why are you so against all of this then?"

"I'm not!" She isn't she just...they're just doing it all _wrong_. "Adora just deserved more...she deserves more than what those morons are planning." They were all just acting in their own interests, focusing on what they wanted or what they thought would make them feel better and take their minds off it all. But none of them knew Adora, not like _she_ did. They all knew Adora as the girl who was their precious "She-Ra". But none of them knew Adora as just Adora. As Catra's best friend.

They probably didn't know that she liked gray ration bars best. They didn't know that Adora could hold her breath the longest out of the whole squad. Didn't know that she was prone to impulsive decisions like attempting to give herself bangs, only to completely ruin her hair and have to hide them in that dumb little hair poof. Didn't know that she liked to hum while doing chores, or that her favorite time of day was as the day moon was setting and the night moon was a faint image in the sky. Didn't know the way she was clingy when half-asleep, or the way she would talk too loud when she got excited or too fast when she was nervous. They didn't know how brightly she smiled in the dark, whispering secrets and promises under the scratchy blanket in the dead of night. They didn't know, didn't know, _didn't know_ …

They didn't know that Adora was scared, holding onto Catra's hands like when they were kids when she got too spooked from another Horde ghost story, when she died. Didn't know how weak she felt in Catra's arms. Didn't know how soft and fragile the girl behind She-Ra really could be.

"Then why don't you tell them how they should do it?"

As if she hadn't considered it. "And you think the happy band of princesses will actually listen?"

"Well," Double Trouble twirls their hair around their finger, scuffing their heel on the ground. "Who better to plan a memorial service for the girl behind She-Ra than that girl's very own best friend? I'm sure they understand that." Catra doesn't answer and Double Trouble turns to face her. "But I'm beginning to think that it's not that you're afraid of being ignored, but the fact that if you agree to help, you're accepting that she's really gone."

Catra rolls her eyes, but there's barely any malice or real annoyance to it. "She died in my arms, Double Trouble. I think I'm more aware than anyone that she's really gone."

"Then act like it. Instead of lashing out at everyone else who's just trying to move on, maybe you should start offering to help."

"And _why_ should I help the people who are trying to butcher my best friend's memory?"

"Because they're hurting too, Kitten. You don't get a monopoly on grief."

Catra shrinks into herself, wrapping her tail around her waist as she stares forlornly at the landscape before them. "I never even got to tell her I was sorry," she mutters. She moves her head just a fraction in Double Trouble's direction. "Why should I get to move on after everything I did?"

"Because she would want you to." Catra wants to fire back, scream and shout all over again, because how would _they_ know what Adora wanted? They barely even knew her! But...she doesn't have the energy, doesn't have the spark, so she sits there silently, staring as Double Trouble stares back, head tilted in thought.

"You know," they begin, somewhat warily. "I have an idea. But I don't know if it'll just make things worse or not."

A humorless laugh escapes her. "What could be worse than this?"

Double Trouble shrugs. "Fair enough. So, feel up to giving it a shot?"

She shrugs and looks off into the distance. Why not? "If it gets you to leave faster."

Her ears pick up on the sound of Double Trouble transforming beside her and turns to question their intentions before halting, voice stuck in her throat, as blue eyes stare back at her.

Adora grins at her, so soft and gentle. Her eyes shine with light and life, her skin glows healthily, and her chest rises and falls with soft breaths. Her hair is tucked up in a half-up, half-down style, and she's even wearing the clothes she wore the day she died - a fitted white turtleneck tank top, light blue arm sleeves rising to her elbows, and a pair of black pants tucked into white and gold boots.

"Hey, Catra."

Catra's lip wobbles, her chest leaps and she has to stifle the sob that claws at her throat because it's a voice she never thought she'd hear again. She reaches a hand out, to touch her, to feel her warmth, to prove this is _real_ , but….

It's not. And it never will be.

Curling her fingers into a fist and withdrawing her hand, her body goes cold at the realization. She knows that this isn't Adora because it _can't_ be because she's dead but…

Oh.

This is Double Trouble's idea.

She tucks her arm back into her chest, blinking the tears away. "A little warning would have been nice."

"Sorry." It's still Adora's voice, but some of Double Trouble's intonation slips through the cracks of the illusion. "Play along, yeah?"

A part of her doesn't want to. Doesn't want to lose herself in the sweet and disastrous lie, to give herself a moment of hope and peace only to have it all taken away again. But she knows what game Double Trouble is playing, knows the reason they're doing this, and figures that...maybe this is the best way. For everyone.

For herself.

"I'm sorry."

Adora - _not_ Adora, but...well she's supposed to play along right? - tilts her head, brilliant blue eyes staring at her in confusion. Seems like they're back in character. "What are you sorry for?"

Catra lets out a ghost of a laugh, rolling her eyes up to the darkening sky. Gosh, where does she even _begin_? She'd spent the better part of the past month rehearsing and revising everything she had wanted to say if this opportunity presented itself, thinking of what she'd say if she'd only been given a moment more to get the words out.

"Everything, I guess," she settles on.

"Catra, you-"

"No." She shakes her head, presses her lips together and sighs. "I need to say this. To get it all out. So just...listen. Please?"

Adora nods, taking a step back to give her the floor. Catra tries to smile, but it doesn't quite come out right, so she opts for taking a deep, steadying breath instead. She takes an extra moment to right herself, get her thoughts in order and bring back everything that she had planned to say what she couldn't then. She has the time now. She might as well use it.

"I'm sorry...for not going with you. You offered countless times, gave me so many chances to take your hand and leave but...I was stubborn and proud and I just dug my heels in further and further. At the time...well, I guess I still felt like I had something to prove. To Shadow Weaver, to Hordak, you and...myself." She licks her bottom lip. "All our lives you came out on top, won everything, received so much praise and I just...wanted that too, I guess. I wanted to prove I was just as worthy as you were, prove that I could make something of myself too. And I felt...I felt like if I just followed you, I'd be right back in your shadow, always second best, always never _enough_ for anyone. Including you." She bites her lip and adds softly, " _Especially_ you.

"I'm sorry for hurting you and your friends, for being so prideful and caught up in trying to catch up to you that I didn't care how I got there. I thought that if I could...could _prove_ that I was worthy to be by your side instead of always trailing behind you, that maybe it would fix everything. Or something like that I guess. I don't know. I'm not sure if I was ever in the right frame of mind since you left.

"Then there was the part of me that was so angry because you _left_ me." The tears well up in her eyes, hot and burning, echoing the heat beating in her chest, pulsing and oozing flames. "All those years you turned your head, ignored, played dumb to how Shadow Weaver treated me. And then you...you just decide in one day that the Horde was evil because some strangers told you it was. And it _hurt_ because I felt like all those years, all the times Shadow Weaver hurt me and punished me...wasn't enough to convince you. I was mad because you decided the Horde was evil in one day and _not_ even because of what they did to us - what they did to _me_ \- but because some strangers told you their sob stories. And after everything we'd been through…." She lets out a breath and wipes at her face. "Yeah. It sucked. A lot.

"I'm sorry for not being there all that time during the war. For being the very thing you had to fight against, for opening that _stupid fucking_ portal and leading Horde Prime right to our doorstep. I'm sorry that I'm the reason we had to fight against them, sorry that I'm the reason you had to run off on your own because I'm _weak_ and _stupid_ and _prideful_ and I'm sorry," Her breath hitches and she stops wiping away the tears coursing down her cheeks, deciding it's too much at this point to even be worth it. "I'm sorry that I got you killed."

She looks over at Adora, seeing a deep sorrow in her eyes, coupled with a small, forgiving smile and breaks down. Sobs wrack her body and once again, she thinks of how cruel the universe has been, how unfair all of it is, to take so much from her without any signs of stopping. To deny her the happiness she fought so hard for and deny her any form of reconciliation for all her crimes and wrongdoings. She curses the universe, but most of all herself, for the course of events that's led her to this point, apologizing to the wrong person for all her misdeeds, knowing that, ultimately, nothing will come of it.

"But," she chokes out, a sob following closely behind. "But what I'm sorry for most is...that you didn't even get to hear any of this. And that you'll never know how sorry I am and...and how much I wish I could undo it all." She claws at her own arm, trying to ground herself in the undercurrent of the sea of emotions she's feeling, pulling and pulling and pulling under her lungs are bursting from the pressure, her head throbbing with the overwhelming sensation of finally letting go.

"I'm sorry that you never knew how much I cared about you. How much I _loved_ you." She hangs her head and collapses, then and there, without any fanfare. Just a broken girl dropping the pieces that never fit together, that she could never carry, leaving them to scatter about and spill over like sand, picked up by a gust of wind and carried away.

Adora, finally unable to stand back any longer, lunges forward and pulls her into her embrace and Catra falls into it as easily as a crumbling tower without support. She wraps her arms around Adora form, digging her claws into the fabric of Adora's shirt and burrows her head into Adora's neck, slicking it with her tears. One of Adora's hands rests on the small of her back, thumb circling slowly, and the other runs through her hair.

"I'm sorry," she gasps out. "I'm so sorry, Adora."

And then, four words she never expected to hear and three she certainly didn't deserve, slips from Adora's mouth as a whisper, going into her ear and piercing her heart:

"I forgive you, Catra."

She pants against Adora's neck, fisting her shirt and pulling as she wails, wishing this was real, wishing she was really here, wishing, wishing, wishing…

She lifts her head, to look into Adora's eyes, and sees the stars reflected in them.

They're no longer cruel or merciless. Now, they're calm and soft, forgiving, and for the first time since they arrived….

Beautifully sympathetic.

**Author's Note:**

> This oneshot kind of got away from me. Whoops.
> 
> So I posted a poll on my twitter (follow if you aren't already for more fic updates/goodies) about what I should write next, but I got impatient waiting for the results and ended up banging this one out. I'll still write what won the poll (and I feel like you guys could definitely use some happy after this monster), but I had to get this out.
> 
> I've actually been planning an Adora death fic for awhile where she dies in the final battle, but not quite like this. But I like how this turned out and I still got to use some of the things I'd originally had planned. For instance, the part where Catra yells at everyone in the war room. I've been wanting to write something where she calls them out for wanting to commemorate She-Ra and not Adora because I believe she'd be (rightfully) pissed about it. So that was fun.
> 
> The rest was not. I actually considered abandoning it after getting past the death scene because I was in a lot of pain, but I didn't want all my effort to be for nothing. So now you all suffer with me.
> 
> I will accept any and all hate that you guys throw at me. But put down your pitchforks and torches because PF ch. 13 should be coming out pretty soon :)
> 
> Until next time~!


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